The Skull on the Mantelpiece
by fairious
Summary: It's 4 AM and, like usual, the consulting detective is driving John Watson up a wall. Refusing to help with ANY case at this early hour, Sherlock is reduced to regarding usage of his infamous skull and we are flashback-ed to Sherlock's childhood and secrets are revealed about this most curious object in the detective's possession...


"**JOHN! **WE'RE OUT OF MILK! AND COULD YOU GET ME THOSE EYEBALLS OUT OF THE MICROWAVE- WE DON"T WANT ANOTHER INCIDENT LIKE LAST WEEK! _COME ON JOHN_- I NEED THIS FOR A CASE!THE HUMAN BODY ONLY NEEDS 3 HOURS OF SLEEP TO REMAIN FUNCTIONAL _AND YOU'VE HAD QUITE ENOUGH- __**SO GET UP ALREADY**__!"_

The shouting sounded once again for what seemed to be the ten thousandth time and John Watson resignedly sat up from his warm, inviting bed, recognizing defeat at last. Sitting up and groggily stretching, he slowly began to get up and get ready for the day; already dreading walking into the kitchen to see what was in store for him on this occasion. Life was definitely never boring here on Baker Street, John thought to himself as he pulled on his jumper and brushed his teeth. _What does the consulting five year old have for me today..._

Sleepily entering the room, and taking notice that the sun was not even visible in the sky at this hour, John padded past the kitchen on his right and instead headed for the main sitting area (if it could be called as such with the mess of miscellaneous objects scattered hither and thither). Eyes still closed in tiredness; he easily navigated the seemingly endless stacks of random papers, files, books, and the occasional violin case until reaching his great cushy armchair he had become so partial to and promptly flopped down in exhaustion. Hoping to possibly be spared Sherlock's ranting and for once be allowed to return to his much needed sleep, he began to doze off, unknowing that the detective had slunk directly behind him in his exhaustive state.

Now, on most occasions Sherlock would have either promptly shaken his friend awake- no matter how much he protested or else would see this as an opportunity to skulk for another hour until his companion finally chose to rise. However, seeing as he had too much work to accomplish this early morning, he realized he really didn't have the time to do the latter and he knew John was probably to break his nose if he dared waking him again at such an early hour as he had learned from past experiences… Not wanting to go through that _again _– the detective realized he was going to have to sort this one out on his own without John's help for once.

Unaccustomed to not having his constant companion by his side, who was the only one to ever really put up with him really, Sherlock fumbled. He was for once stumped, trying to think what he was to do.

_Genius needs an audience,_ he had once told John and although this statement was meant more so to prove his point at the time, he did regard it to be the sound truth. In order to express his ideas clearly and to their best efficiency, Sherlock simply found that he needed to speak aloud and it was as simple as that. It was also what he had always done and this need to speak aloud even when no one was being addressed had been a constant ailment of sorts of his since he was a child. Often, he had been teased for talking to himself and thought to be loony but this was only because he had never able to find anyone who would truly listen. Thusly, he was left to mumble or else sink himself in silence, _the silence of his stunted words_.

However, this had all changed once his eleventh birthday had come around; bringing his most prized upon gift he had ever received with it; his prized skull. Given to him by his mother once she had realized his love of anatomy as well as lack of any companionship since his brother had been sent off to boarding school; Sherlock had become immediately attached to the gift- regarding it as the perfect solution to his problems. Now, with it in his possession, he wouldn't need to talk to himself alone any longer and would not (at least in his eyes) be thought to be the odd one out. Also, as well as this, he now was able to not have the need to inflict his opinions upon the other dullards he was stuck up with day after day. He didn't regard the fact that most other children would find him to be weird to be talking to an inanimate object, because ultimately, Sherlock couldn't care less, they left him alone and he was able to think aloud, no matter how lonely he knew he was deep down inside.

Bestowing his inanimate companion with the name Billy, it became a constant addition to his surroundings wherever he ended up as he moved from place to place with age, often taking pride in boasting of it as an old friend which tended to put people off about his overall mysterious persona. All the same, ever since moving into 221B with John as his flat mate, he had long forgotten his usage of the skull as a tool. John, though Sherlock had initially claimed to be filling in for the skull, had all the same proved himself to be completely different from anyone Sherlock had ever met. Rather than the one sided collaboration one can only with a nonliving object, John had, in Sherlock's eyes, completely surpassed his initial thoughts of what it meant to be a companion and rather found his first true friend instead.

So though his initial thoughts that early December morning had been to search for that god-forsaken skull of his, Sherlock, now realizing this, decided instead that maybe this case _could _wait till it was truly morning…John did need his rest after all, _he has to put up with me all the time_! Chuckling, he grabbed the downy blanket from beside the chair and gently placed it over the now dead-to-the-world sleeping form of the exhausted doctor. Still slightly laughing to himself, Sherlock returned back to his work in the kitchen, as quietly as he could, still trying to not wake his friend. And as he submerged once again to his thoughts on the case, engrossing himself in studying a particularly interesting microscope slide of a suspect's saliva, he subconsciously reflected to himself one last thing before returning to his pressing work.

"_Maybe_," he thought. "_Maybe Mrs. Hudson knew what she was doing in taking my skull after all."_

_The end._


End file.
